


Angel Kisses

by seashadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, First Time, Freckles, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, poor awkward Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: Whatever was happening was entirely new; his hand was covered with hundreds of tiny brown spots, just a bit darker than the scant golden-brown ones he’d found flecking his corporation and much more tightly packed together. “What…?”“Something wrong?” Aziraphale asked. “Does the rain hurt you?”“Rain? Is that what it’s called?” Crawly said, glad for a distraction. He balled his hand into a fist and shoved it into his opposite sleeve. For some reason, he didn’t want Aziraphale to see it.(In the beginning, Crowley discovers that whenever and wherever he imagines Aziraphale touching him, freckles appear. He can only keep it a secret for so long.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 313
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Good Omens Mini Bang





	Angel Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the Good Omens Mini-Bang 2020! Many, MANY thanks to mehrto (mehrto on Tumblr, GO LOOK) for the beautiful art, and sosobriquet for beta-reading.

The first time he noticed what happened, Crawly was on the wall, watching the moving storm clouds. He looked over his head at the feathers dipping into his vision. “Surprised you’d shelter me like this,” he said. “I’m a demon.”

The angel – Aziraphale – darted a glance at him, and his cheeks went pink for some reason. Crawly couldn’t imagine why; he hadn’t spent too much time in the sun. The angel of the southern gate had done that last week, and Crawly had had a good laugh when she had to peel her arms. “Angels are meant to be forgiving of all sins,” he said in a steadfast tone, staring straight ahead.

“Don’t go wasting your forgiveness on me,” said Crawly, rolling his eyes. _Angels._ So ridiculous. He didn’t need to be forgiven for causing trouble. Look what had happened because of him – there were going to be more humans in the world, and Adam and Eve knew what free will was. He didn’t consider that a half bad consequence for ten minutes of temptation.

“Oh, but it’s not a waste,” said Aziraphale. “Anything can be forgiven. Anyone, I suppose. Even if they’re…well…”

“A demon?” Crawly supplied.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Please don’t take it the wrong way.”

Crawly shrugged. “Don’t know that there’s a wrong way to take it, _angel_. I Fell and you didn’t. That’s the way it is.” That was about all the detail he wanted to remember. His mind had blocked out most of the pain, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale shook his wing, and water dripped off the ends of the feathers. Crawly looked up and wondered what would happen if he reached up, feeling the trailing tips with a questing hand. Would they be as soft as his?

His right hand tingled. He shook it in irritation, gave it a glance, then took a longer look. Whatever was happening was entirely new; his hand was covered with hundreds of tiny brown spots, just a bit darker than the scant golden-brown ones he’d found flecking his corporation and much more tightly packed together. “What…?”

“Something wrong?” Aziraphale asked. “Does the rain hurt you?”

“Rain? Is that what it’s called?” Crawly said, glad for a distraction. He balled his hand into a fist and shoved it into his opposite sleeve. For some reason, he didn’t want Aziraphale to see it. He’d probably just think it was strange. “Look out there. The clouds are making shapes, see? That one looks like an elephant.”

“You know,” said Aziraphale, “it rather does. And look, the one next to it looks like a unicorn about to charge it.”

Crawly chuckled and shook a few drops of water that Aziraphale hadn’t managed to shield him from off his own wings. “If it drops water on us, maybe it’ll be a camel cloud,” he said. “They spit.”

Aziraphale made a face. “That’s rather disgusting.”

“Well, I’m a demon,” said Crowley cheerfully, and kept his hand in his sleeve until the rain stopped.

* * *

A thousand years after the Great Flood, Crawly found Aziraphale again in Agade. “Angel,” he said, striding over to where Aziraphale sat ministering to the cut on a man’s forehead. “I didn’t expect to see you here again.”

“Crawly!” Aziraphale exclaimed, lifting his salve-covered fingers away. The angel had changed his white robe for the belted skirt and billowing over-shawl common to the area, which at least made him stand out a little less. Few enough people here had his coloring – it was well past time he tried to blend in through more than miracles. “I didn’t expect to see you. Give me a moment or two, I’m working.”

“Fair enough,” said Crawly, and slunk off into the shadows to people-watch. The city had grown since the last time he stopped by, proof of Sargon’s success. They’d liked him Downstairs; Hell tended to approve of despots, no matter how many lands they united and how much good they incidentally did. But no matter how it had happened, the whole mess meant more people for him to tempt, and more trouble to cause.

Aziraphale came by after Crawly had used a few of his allotted miracles to make a vat of beer spill on exactly the right few people to start a really fun argument in the street. “What have you been up to, foul demon?” he asked, wiping his hands on his robe as he walked up to him. “Creating annoyances? I’ve heard that’s the new fashion Downstairs.”

“Something like that,” said Crawly. “Plague of flies here, mice in the grain there. I prefer getting people to question things. I won’t give you more details than that.” No matter how comfortable Aziraphale made him feel, he was still part of the Opposition, and Downstairs would have a few of his body parts (temporarily, at least) if he forgot that.

“I don’t expect that of you,” said Aziraphale. “Mutual nondisclosure is a good policy, I think.”

“Oh, fine, be cagey.” Crawly smiled and laced his hands behind his back. “Anything stirring Upstairs that I don’t already know about?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you that some of my superiors have become…well, rather _overbearing_ in their free time,” he said. “Undoubtedly it’s nothing your own superiors don’t already know.”

“Archangel Gabriel,” Crawly guessed. He was a frequent subject of complaints in Hell.

“Oh, you still go right for the sore spots, don’t you?” said Aziraphale with a wince. “He’s taken most of the solos in the Heavenly Chorus. And his voice _carries_ , even when it’s incorporeal.” He looked around furtively. “But please don’t tell anyone that came from me.”

“You’re not the only one of your kind on Earth, angel,” said Crawly. “I’ll just say it came from a trusted source, if anyone asks.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Thank you. You’ve put my mind at ease. Oh – look, a brew house!” He pointed at a nearby building. “You’d like this one. The beer is very thick and sweet. Would you care to share a vat with me?”

“Well, you don’t have to twist my arm about it,” Crawly said, hiding a smile by looking down. “I’ll pay, if you’re asking. It’s only polite. Well,” he said off Aziraphale’s expression, “demonic. If I get you drunk, then maybe I can tempt you away from your side.”

He knew it was a flimsy excuse, but Aziraphale went along with it happily enough. They went in and the brewer seated them at a far vat with no one else around it once Crawly gave her a piece of silver. “Here’s to trying a new drink,” said Crawly, taking a sip through his reed. “Oh, that’s not bad.”

Aziraphale nodded vigorously as he took a long pull, then made a face and spat out a piece of husk. “I should have warned you about these,” he said in an apologetic tone. “It’s not terribly well-strained, but it’s tasty enough I don’t mind.”

“It’s all right, angel,” Crawly said. “I’ve had worse than a few husks.” His shoulder bumped Aziraphale’s, and his face went hot. He cleared his throat, then took another drink, wondering how it would feel if Aziraphale’s _bare_ shoulder and arm were pressed up against his. Did Aziraphale even get naked? What if the angel ran his hand down the parts of Crowley he was touching now?

There it was again, that tingling. This time it ran down the length of his arm. Crawly peered under his shawl and started in surprise. From his shoulder down, his arm was covered in those spots again. _Freckles,_ that was what the humans called them. But he hadn’t had them suddenly appear in two thousand years.

“Crawly?” said Aziraphale. “Did you get another husk?”

“Uh? Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.” Crawly hid his arm away and pretended to spit. “Humans and their inventions. They’re inconvenient sometimes, even for demons.”

“I understand,” said Aziraphale, sighing. “Well, it’s good you haven’t choked. Because – because then I would have fewer adversaries to defeat.”

Crawly chuckled. “You like being around me,” he said. “Admit it, Aziraphale. As demons go, I’m fun, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll admit nothing of the sort. My conversations with demons, and my feelings about those conversations, are no one’s business but my own.” He twirled his reed between his thumb and forefinger, and Crawly noticed for the first time how smooth and well-cared for his fingers were.

How, he wondered, would that hand feel if Aziraphale held his?

His hand tingled.

Crawly thought a few strong swear words as he looked at his hand just long enough to note the freckles, then sat on it. “Uh, cut myself on the reed,” he said off Aziraphale’s curious look. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, _Crawly_ ,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. “When will you learn?” His cheeks were already flushed and his eyes were bright from the strength of the beer. Crawly had to admit, these humans really knew what they were doing. “No harm done if you’re all right, I suppose. Let’s finish the vat. You do know we can handle it, I hope?”

Crawly, who had gotten drunk enough times to know that half a vat of beer was _nothing_ for him, nodded and reached for his reed again. “Good idea.”

* * *

He was Crowley the next time it happened, seated next to Aziraphale on a luxurious couch in Petronius’s restaurant. Aziraphale’s connections had gotten him the best area, of course, and Crowley had expected nothing less. “I do have a hard time believing that you’ve never eaten oysters,” Aziraphale said, passing him a goblet of wine. “You seem rather more adventurous than that.”

“Angel,” said Crowley, “you’ve known me for four thousand years. I don’t like to eat much.”

“Oh, but you’re so curious,” Aziraphale said. “Surely you’ve tried things?”

Crowley eyed the plate of slimy things on shells that had just arrived at the table. “Yes, but I tend to draw the line at things that look like they’ve come out the other end.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Aziraphale scolded. “It’s good to try new things. Er…for you, maybe it’s _bad_ to try them. Don’t you want to be bad?”

Crowley blinked. “Are you seriously trying to tempt me again, Aziraphale? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the demon here.”

“I know, I know. Just be quiet and try the oyster, dear boy.” Aziraphale took one from the platter, balancing it carefully between his fingers – even better-manicured than the last time he’d had a good look, Crowley noted – as he handed it over. “You’ll like it.”

He didn’t. The thing tasted like seawater and felt even worse, and Crowley had to fight to keep from gagging. There were some foods he’d filed away on a list of ‘never do that again no matter what,’ and this had to be the latest addition. But Aziraphale was looking at him with such pleading eyes that he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Interesting,” he said instead. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Isn’t it good? Would you like another?”

Crowley shook his head and pushed the platter towards him. “All for you.” Even if he _had_ liked the oysters, he suspected Aziraphale would have gotten the majority anyway. It was just too alluring, watching Aziraphale smack his mouth and lick his lips and shiver with pleasure. Just like –

Well. Crowley hadn’t lived for over four thousand years and remained ignorant of _those_ kinds of pleasures. He’d come a long way since the naivete of the Garden, and he’d taken lovers since then, too. Aziraphale…God, had Aziraphale done the same thing? He took so much pleasure in the things humanity invented, maybe he took pleasure in the inventors as well.

Was it his imagination, or did Aziraphale’s mouth look even softer than it had eight years ago? Maybe it was the lighting, or the way Aziraphale had pursed his lips to keep the sand out at the crucifixion. But the way he ate and drank was practically indecent. Would his lips be soft if they touched Crowley’s, too? Or if he kissed him?

Crowley touched his mouth as it tingled. _Oh, fuck._ He thought the word in several languages, then cleared his throat. “Aziraphale, would you excuse me a moment?”

Aziraphale looked up from his fourth oyster. “Are you all right, my dear? The oyster isn’t turning your stomach, is it? I ought to have warned you about the texture.”

“It’s not that,” Crowley said, although thank Someone Aziraphale had said it. Maybe he wouldn’t offer him oysters again now. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and ducked into an alcove where Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to see him no matter how far he craned his neck, then pulled a small circle of polished metal out of his toga and held it up to his face. The light of the clay lamp set into the wall showed him exactly what he’d suspected: his upper lip was covered in freckles, with faint freckles even dotting the thin skin of his lips themselves.

Crowley slapped a hand over his mouth. This…this was bad. He couldn’t hide a new blemish on his face like he could on his arms. Aziraphale wouldn’t believe for a second that he’d developed a sudden desire to fully veil himself. And if he miracled himself freckle-free, then it would show up on his expense report and he’d have to explain himself. He angrily bared his sharp teeth at his own image, repressing a hiss, then rubbed his mouth as hard as he could until he thought that the growing redness of his lips eclipsed the freckles.

Aziraphale would be wondering where he was. He couldn’t delay any longer. With a sigh, Crowley went back to the table. “Sorry, angel,” he said.

“It’s quite all right – what in the _world_ is the matter with your mouth?” said Aziraphale. “Goodness, it’s as red as a pomegranate!”

Of course he noticed. Luck, without the aid of miracles, was so rarely on Crowley’s side. “I noticed I got, uh, wine on my mouth,” he said. “Had to rub it off. Was I a little too aggressive, angel?” He affected an expression of surprise. “Guess I was.”

“I didn’t see any wine on your mouth,” Aziraphale said. “You kept licking off all the drops.”

Bless it, why did Aziraphale choose now to decide he wanted to solve mysteries? “Maybe I was imagining things,” said Crowley. “No harm done. Do you want me to order you some sweets?”

Aziraphale clapped his hands in obvious excitement. “Oh, would you?”

So Crowley did, and watched as Aziraphale happily tucked in to a platter of fruit and some dessert called _savillum_ , which was apparently a cake made of cheese. Another thing Crowley would have to stay far away from. “That was wonderful,” Aziraphale said when he’d finished, taking another drink from his ever-full cup of wine.

“Good,” Crowley said. “Glad you liked it.” He put his fingers to his lips again, hoping against hope that the freckles had faded. “When will…I mean…I’m sure we’ll see each other again sometime.”

He escaped to the room he was renting not long after that, and found that not only were the freckles still there, but that he had _more_ of them. Satan Below, he couldn’t wait to finish the temptation he’d been assigned and get the heaven out of here. Gaul would be better. Or Germania, or Karthagos, or farther east yet; somewhere the fucking Romans had no sway and he had less of a chance of embarrassing himself in front of Aziraphale again.

* * *

Aziraphale looked _far_ too good in that ridiculously shiny armor. Although what the heaven was with that cape?

Crowley couldn’t repress a grouchy huff as he took off his own armor, having refused the help of a servant to do it for him. Redheads were unusual, albeit less so here than in most of the world, but he didn’t like being stared at even if it was for a positive reason. Especially not when he was naked.

He removed his helmet, made a face at it, and set it carefully down on the floor. _Crawly_ – that rankled. Had Aziraphale really just…forgotten his name after all these years of knowing it? Admittedly, this was the same angel who didn’t know what the word ‘foment’ meant, but still, you would think that knowing someone for four and a half thousand years would _mean something._

But… _Satan_ , he looked good in that armor.

Crowley pulled another piece – which he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, because when you were a demon, that was the furthest thing from necessary – off his body and let his eyes close. Was Aziraphale doing the same thing right now? He was undoubtedly in a castle or a well-provisioned campaign tent with Arthur and the rest of them, not the dank little tent with its cold bed that Crowley had been forced to occupy. In the cold of his temporary quarters, he pulled off the last of his clothes and shivered. He was never completely warm on this island, even in what passed for summer here. Maybe it was the snake in him, or a latent longing for Mesopotamia. The food had been better there, that was for sure.

Aziraphale probably had a torch, and a hot bath, and a servant to undress him. _Lucky bastard,_ Crowley thought sourly, then castigated himself for thinking it. That wasn’t fair of him. And he had no reason to want to dress or undress Aziraphale. No reason to want to see that comfortable-looking body out of its confining armor, or to imagine Aziraphale looking at his own skinny corporation.

He had no reason to imagine Aziraphale coming towards him with a smile on his face, asking ‘may I?’ and lavishing compliments on Crowley that would make him blush like he was undoubtedly doing right now.

No reason to think of him touching –

Crowley felt a tingling sensation well below his waist, and looked down.

“Oh, come on!”

* * *

When they finalized their Arrangement, as they had both taken to calling the nascent agreement, it was the first time that either of them had spent more than a few years in London. The long-standing war between the Danes and the English had torn the city in two, but somehow Aziraphale had still managed to find a place to buy food in the south half.

“So,” said Aziraphale, swallowing his mouthful of porridge, “I assume that any formal evidence is out of the question.”

Crowley shook his head, feeling more than a bit smug at Aziraphale’s choice of food. He’d come a long way from ‘foment.’ “It’ll be both our heads if anyone finds written proof,” he said, “and I don’t think either of us will be allowed to come back from those discorporations.”

“I quite agree,” Aziraphale said. He popped a few berries in his mouth from the bowl next to his porridge. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“Nope,” said Crowley, lifting his mug of ale. “This is good enough for me.” It was the weak everyday stuff, not strong enough to get him drunk unless he drank ten tankards or more, but the taste was still soothing. “You’ve been eating enough for both of us.”

“That I have,” said Aziraphale with a slight wince. “How many bowls of this have I had, Crowley? It’s just so delicious, I couldn’t stop myself.”

Crowley counted on his fingers. “Four. And a lot of berries.” He refrained from poking any more, having learned years ago that teasing Aziraphale about food rarely ended well. If there were other angels stationed on Earth who were more attached to the worldly things in life than Aziraphale was, he didn’t want to meet them. “Feeling all right?”

“A bit of a bellyache,” Aziraphale said, and patted his abdomen. “I’ve eaten too much for certain.”

“So empty yourself,” said Crowley, shrugging. “Or take the pain away. Haven’t you done that before?”

“Yes, but I’m low on my allotted miracles.” Aziraphale blushed. “I, er, may have used up too many when I aided the Archbishop of Rouen. Gabriel wasn’t best pleased that our side lost that particular conflict.”

Crowley dug his teeth into the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Poor Aziraphale looked so distraught at the admission. “Weren’t your whole lot excommunicated for that?” he asked. The ill-gotten truce had been a short-lived bit of juicy news in Hell. “The Dark Council had a laugh over it.”

“Mm. If the archbishop comes back, then maybe…well, I can’t go speculating on our movements in front of _you_ , can I?” said Aziraphale. “Anyway, that’s why I can’t fix this mistake.”

“I could do it for you.” The offer was out before Crowley could retract it, and now it was his turn to blush. “I mean, uh, sorry, I’m not supposed to – forget I sssaid anything.” His sibilants were hissier than usual, much to his embarrassment.

“Forgotten,” said Aziraphale magnanimously. “Crowley, may I ask you something?”

Crowley nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

Aziraphale set his hand on his belly again. “Why don’t _you_ like to eat?”

“Oh.” Crowley looked at his cup. “I don’t get hungry much.” He had been cursed to crawl on his belly and eat dust for the rest of his days, back in the Garden. It hadn’t come completely to fruition – his legs worked well enough in this form, and he hadn’t lain on his belly for any purpose other than pleasure in thousands of years, but he rarely had an appetite for food. “And the food I eat would probably scare you.”

“Try me.”

Crowley sighed. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, and counted off on his fingers. “Spicy food. Always liked that – makes a human cry if they eat with me. Foods with sulfur in them. Sometimes I just need to eat an egg to feel really demonic again.” He declined to mention that he usually did so in snake form, crushing the food in question with his internal muscles and then sleeping for a week or more. “Anysum. Oh, and licorice root.”

Aziraphale made a face, which he quickly rearranged, to his credit. “That’s an interesting selection.”

“You think so?” Crowley couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “I thought _you_ were the adventurous eater, angel. A little bitterness should be nothing to – are you all right?” Aziraphale’s face contorted in another wince. “Your stomach’s still bothering you?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand in a circle on his belly. “So. This…Arrangement. We’re in agreement on the various boundaries and so forth, and who isn’t to be in the know?”

“Absolutely. Go feel better,” said Crowley. “You need to be well-rested if you’re going to thwart my wiles.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Shall I see you another time, then? Not…scheduled. But sometime, whenever we run into each other again.”

“That sounds good.”

Crowley was glad for his glasses as he watched the movement of Aziraphale’s hand on his belly. He himself was too thin, but he suspected that Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. Would he ever touch Crowley that way, too?

This time when the tingling feeling came, he didn’t even have to look to know what was happening.

* * *

The plague had kept a stranglehold on Constantinople for months with no end in sight; the moans and cries of both the sick and the healthy had long since blended into a fog. Crowley slogged from person to person until his vision blurred before him. Until he lost his glasses, and everyone around him was too ill to notice or care about his eyes.

The man he was caring for had a chance of surviving the night, but it was slim. Crowley fought back tears as he left the little dwelling and slunk through the deepening shadows. _Curse Hell,_ he thought. _Curse Pestilence and his work, curse the men on their ships, curse everything._ Up north, he’d heard, things were just as bad. If this plague continued the way it had hit _Zhongguo_ the last decade, then the eastern world might lose one of every two souls.

He ran a hand down his face. There was little to no chance he would die of this, or even contract it to begin with – but those who remained healthy could go mad, seeing their loved ones slip away from them. “What’s worse?” he asked himself with a nonsensical smile. “Dead or mad?”

“Neither, I should think,” said a familiar voice. “Crowley? What are you doing here?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. Thank Someone for a little sanity in this disease-ridden hell. “Might as well ask you the same thing.”

Aziraphale looked just as disheveled as Crowley felt. “Caring for the sick,” he said. “It’s especially bad here – Heaven sent me to make things a bit better. But there are only so many miracles I can spend, and…” He sighed. “I’ve had to resort to healing people the human way instead.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded and worried his fingers together. “So am I,” he said quietly. “Well – it’s a dreadful situation. What about you, Crowley? What are _you_ doing here?” Dread grew on his face. “You’re not…hurting people, are you?”

“No!” Crowley nearly shouted. “I’m here for work,” he said, much softly. “They want me to spread discord. You know, the usual. I…” He swept a hand down, indicating his garb. “Thought being a doctor might fulfill the assignment without letting more people die.”

He thought Aziraphale’s face might light up, that he might say something about how good was always more appealing than evil, even to a demon. But Aziraphale pursed his lips and gazed steadily into Crowley’s eyes instead. “More death is the last thing we need,” he said, “but I’m afraid this plague will fell many more before it’s through with the world.”

“I think so, too,” said Crowley. If he had the energy, he would have turned into a snake and slithered north to eat some of the marmots who started this whole mess. He suspected Pestilence had had a blessed good time infecting them. “Have you managed to…to save anyone?”

Aziraphale sighed. “A few,” he said. “Far fewer than I’d like. I won’t ask if you’re in the same situation, judging by the look on your face, I assume you are.”

Another scream rang in the distance, and Crowley closed his eyes to stop his vision from throbbing. He suddenly wished that he had his glasses again, if only so Aziraphale couldn’t see the dark circles that had undoubtedly been growing under his eyes for days. “Think someone died?” he asked.

“Crowley.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, looking at his feet and feeling like quite possibly the worst being on the face of the Earth. And not in the enthusiastic way that work wanted him to act, either. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and then suddenly Crowley was surrounded by angel. Aziraphale rubbed up and down his back with broad hands, resting his chin on Crowley’s robe-covered shoulder. “I know. You’re doing your very best.”

Crowley closed his eyes. Those words from an angel should have been a grave insult, but somehow – standing in the middle of the alley while the plague swirled around him – they were the kindest he could have heard. “Angel…”

“Oh.” Aziraphale pulled away, leaving Crowley shivering even in the warmth of summer. “I’m sorry, my dear. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s fine.” Crowley smoothed his hair and tried not to think about what it would feel like if Aziraphale hugged him with no clothes on. Even softer, no doubt. Warmer, although he could feel Aziraphale’s warmth through their many layers. This wasn’t the time. People were dying, and no matter if the angel was standing right there, radiating heat, he couldn’t –

There was that tingling again. Crowley briefly closed his eyes and added another curse to his litany from earlier. He had no doubt that when he finally got all his clothes off, he’d look like a spotted fawn below the neck. “Angel,” he said, “do you have anyone else to heal today?”

“None that I know of,” Aziraphale answered. “Of course…well, you know me. I’ll find someone.” His lower lip quivered. “Crowley – thank you. It’s good to know I’m not alone.”

“I think everyone would agree with you on that,” Crowley said. “Look, Aziraphale. You, uh, you know where to find me. If something’s absolutely dire and you need me to help with…it. Right?”

Thankfully, Aziraphale took the hint. “Of course, Crowley,” he said in a tone just as would-be clandestine. Crowley knew in the abstract that he was good at lying to the other angels, but he had no idea how when Aziraphale was so terrible at being subtle in front of him. “I’ll see you when, ah. You know.”

“The Arrangement. Yes, I know.” Crowley considered the merits of patting Aziraphale’s clothed shoulder, then decided against it. “Be safe, Aziraphale.”

“And you, Crowley.” Aziraphale waved at him and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

As it turned out, the Bastille was a bloody maze if you’d never been there before, even if you were a demon. Crowley cursed yet again and pressed himself up against a wall, casting a tiny miracle to deflect the attention of a passing guard. “Come on,” he muttered, “the door’s got to be close. What were these people thinking?” He was all for a good spot of eating the rich (or chopping their heads off), but sometimes humans just went too far.

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered. “I know that! Look – there’s a light.” He pointed. “Is that…?”

“Thank Satan, yesssss,” Crowley said, and practically dragged Aziraphale the last stretch of hallway to the exit. He gulped in the fresh air, forgetting that he had no need to breathe, and ran with Aziraphale until he found a convenient alley. And it wasn’t even miraculously convenient, this time.

“Good Lord,” said Aziraphale, puffing and seemingly in a similarly breathless state. “I could have been discorporated if not for you.”

Crowley leaned against the wall. “You could have,” he agreed, too rattled to mince words. “Angel, I reiterate: what were you thinking? And don’t just tell me it was food, because…” The realization hit him before he could finish his sentence. “Satan below, you were bored, weren’t you?”

Aziraphale at least had the grace to look guilty, and not the angelic type of grace, either. “I, er…”

“Forget it,” said Crowley, holding up a hand. He didn’t particularly want to argue with Aziraphale, and besides, he knew that an argument of that type would get into the things _he_ had done while bored in the past few millennia. “Just try not to do it again, all right? I can’t keep rescuing you, angel. My time is as valuable as yours.”

The angel’s lips quivered. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I didn’t mean…oh, I do hope you won’t be reprimanded.”

“Can probably _ssslither_ my way out of it,” Crowley said with what he hoped was an insouciant shrug. “Don’t worry too much.”

“I’ll try not to,” said Aziraphale, and came tentatively closer. “Crowley – thank you. I very much appreciate what you did for me.” He put a hand on the small of Crowley’s back, warmth spreading out from the center point where his palm rested. It was as though Crowley had touched a key hanging from a kite in a thunderstorm, like the experiments he’d heard that mad American was performing. “Crowley?”

“Hn. Yeah.” Crowley shook his head. The spot on his back felt warm and tingly. _Tingly_ – ah, bugger it all. He resolved to keep his clothes on until the feeling ended and the freckles faded. Stupid corporation, betraying him yet again. “Do you think you can get out of Paris on your own?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Oh, yes, without a doubt,” he said. “Thank you again, Crowley. I’ll do my level best not to require your…services again, in this type of situation.”

“See that you do,” Crowley told him, but was unable to summon any rancor to heat up the words. Really, he was the softest touch for this ridiculous angel.

* * *

“Lift home?”

Crowley didn’t wait for a response before he darted forward, fighting the compulsion to find something, _anything_ that would hold holy water and scoop enough out of the font to keep him safe. Aziraphale would never forgive him if he annihilated himself right after saving his life, and even if he was dead, Crowley knew he would find a way to come back from the sheer guilt.

He was nearly at the door before he realized he couldn’t hear Aziraphale walking behind him. “Angel? Were you planning to stay in here all night?”

“Oh! No, I’m sorry, my dear.” Aziraphale hurried up with quick footsteps until he was next to Crowley. “You offered…?”

“Yep. Assuming your shop’s still in the same location?”

“Of course.”

Crowley led him through the chunks of rubble outside to where he’d parked his car. “That’s a beautiful vehicle,” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t think you were the sort to drive regularly.”

“Yeah, well.” Crowley shrugged. How could he describe the feeling of a car rumbling under you, the speed that felt like flying on back roads, to someone who still loved horses and wagons? Well, assuming Aziraphale still did, admittedly. It was his own fault that he hadn’t seen Aziraphale in so long that he didn’t know his preferences anymore. “Do you like it?”

Aziraphale ran a careful hand down the Bentley’s hood. “It’s beautiful, my dear,” he said. “Crowley. Or shall I call you Anthony now?”

Heat spread from Crowley’s face up to his ears and down his neck. “Uh, er. ‘Crowley’ is fine,” he said. “’s’just a name. Something I call myself so the humans don’t get suspicious.” He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ tell Aziraphale that he’d gotten his name from a children’s rhyme. “But, um, thanks. You know to get in on the left side of the car, right?”

Aziraphale nodded and got in. Crowley did the same on the other side, turned the key, and gunned the engine, shooting down the street at the speed he favored. No one was outside, not with the air-raid sirens blaring, and it almost felt like the whole city belonged to them. Like he and Aziraphale were the people’s protectors, keeping bombs away and riding in a horseless carriage darker than the night. If he only had a black mask over his face, maybe with a cape, he’d be a proper hero out of the comic books.

It took a disappointingly short time for him to get to the bookshop. He parked ostentatiously in front of the curb, and only then looked over long enough to notice that Aziraphale was as white as a sheet and clinging to the door. “You all right, angel?” he asked. “Er. If you’re going to be sick, I have to ask you to open the door.”

Aziraphale made a noise of assent that sounded closer to a whimper, and slowly let go of his handhold. “I mean no offense,” he said, “but you drive like a maniac, my dear.”

“Oh.” Crowley tried not to let his face fall. “I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean…are you okay?”

“I will be, but I – I think I’d like to get out now,” said Aziraphale, and did just that. Crowley opened his own door in time to see how wobbly Aziraphale’s gait was, and felt guilty all over again. “I’ll be all right,” Aziraphale said, as if he could sense Crowley’s thoughts. “I’m just a bit…discombobulated.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley repeated. “I should’ve known.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Aziraphale assured him. “I’m sure you’ve driven others about without any issue. Would you like to come in? I’ve some very good tea.”

Crowley shifted in place. The pain in his feet was roaring back to life, a strong burn even worse than the sharp, fiery shocks he’d felt in the church. _Ow,_ he thought. _Bugger._ “I should get going,” he said. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale’s gaze flicked downward. “Your feet must be in dreadful pain.”

Bless it, Crowley was going to have a talk with someone – he didn’t know who – to see if he’d been lied to all these years and angels really could read minds. An image popped into his head of him with his feet on Aziraphale’s lap as Aziraphale gently washed them with a wet cloth and murmured sweet nothings about how badly he must be hurting, how brave he’d been.

The sensation in his feet spiked, a tingling electric shock overlaid on the burn. Crowley sent a dark thought in the direction of his corporation and tried to hop from foot to foot as unobtrusively as possible. “I’m fine,” he said. “I should be getting back to my flat, angel. You, uh, go drink your tea. You’ve had quite a night.”

“I suppose I have,” said Aziraphale, although he still didn’t look entirely convinced. “I’ll see you when we next chance to meet. Do try to stay out of trouble.”

“I make no promises,” said Crowley. He got back in the car and drove off as fast as superhumanly possible, vowing to stick his undoubtedly freckled feet in a basin of ice water until he could no longer feel the burns.

* * *

Their late lunch at the Ritz had gone about as smoothly as it could have, and Crowley felt giddy with joy and champagne bubbles alike by the time he and Aziraphale left. “Were you planning to go back to your shop?” he asked. “Inventory?” He’d told Aziraphale the sorts of selections Adam saw fit to include in the restored bookshop, and Aziraphale hadn’t exactly been pleased about it.

“I think that can wait,” said Aziraphale. Crowley looked at him in surprise, but it didn’t seem like Aziraphale was joking. “No, really! Don’t look so surprised, my dear boy. It seems we both have plenty of time now to do everything that we wish, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” Crowley admitted. “So…are you going to a museum, then? Or maybe you should give sleeping a try. I’ve always told you how great it is.”

“Well, I meant that I wasn’t going to do inventory yet,” said Aziraphale. “That doesn’t preclude going back to my shop. Would you like to come with me?” His cheeks reddened, although Crowley couldn’t think why. He’d been at the shop…it had to be thousands of times by now, didn’t it? Hundreds, at least. Of course, he’d lost a lot of opportunity to be there when he took his long nap. “If you’re not tired of my company, that is.”

Crowley shook his head. “Never,” he said with a shamefully un-demonic amount of relief. “I’m just glad you’re not sick of _me._ Do you want me to, you know…” He mimed snapping his fingers. “I’m up for anything. You did us both a favor with that Ritz reservation.”

“Just having you there is more than good enough,” said Aziraphale, and blushed even brighter. “Feel free to nap on my couch if you’d like.”

“Might take you up on that,” Crowley said. “The shop it is.”

When they got there, Aziraphale held open the door for him, then stood beside it after it closed, interlacing and flexing his fingers. “Crowley,” he said.

Crowley waited for him to elaborate, but Aziraphale remained silent. “Yeah, angel?”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face flickered between fear and indecision, fast and frequent enough that Crowley couldn’t even begin to guess what he was playing at. “Could I,” Aziraphale finally began, then shook his head and cleared his throat as he rubbed his right thumb over the back of his left hand. “Crowley, might I…”

“Are you okay, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. “Fuck, did you get sick down there?” An angel wearing a demon’s face was still an angel, and Hell was bloody filthy. “Please, angel, you’ve got to tell me if something’s wrong.”

A whimper rose from Aziraphale’s throat. Then the angel was rushing at him in a blur of motion, and before Crowley could even think, he was up against the nearest wall with Aziraphale’s mouth on his.

His mind blanked out. And then Aziraphale opened his mouth, and his faculties sputtered back online just enough for him to get his tongue involved and put his hands on Aziraphale’s hips, and to revel in the resulting moan.

When he pushed Aziraphale away what seemed like moments later, his arms worked without his consent, and so did his mouth. “Hhh. Ghngh.” Crowley worked his lips. “ _Why?_ ”

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, looking crestfallen. “You didn’t like it?”

“I – I didn’t say _that_ ,” Crowley said. “I just…never thought you’d… _fucking hell._ ” Turning into a snake would probably be less embarrassing than this. “Angel. Why didn’t you sssssay anything before this? I would’ve…I wanted…you could’ve done anything and I’d’ve said yesssss.”

“You would have?” Aziraphale stared at him. “Why didn’t _you_ say anything?” Then his gaze sharpened and he nearly jumped in place. “Crowley, your mouth!”

Crowley brought his hand up to his lips. “What? Did you bite it?” It had felt so good when Aziraphale kissed him that he wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the case.

“No.” Aziraphale gently touched Crowley’s mouth with his fingertips. “Freckles. Your lips are covered in freckles, Crowley.”

Embarrassed heat immediately shot through Crowley, and he backed away, covering his mouth with his own hand. “Fuck,” he said, voice muffled. “I’m sssorry, Aziraphale, I…”

“Is this what you had on your mouth that time in Rome?” Aziraphale asked. Oh, fucking heaven, Aziraphale’s brain was going to be the death of him. “I knew it wasn’t wine!”

“Sssshut up,” Crowley said. “Please.” His face was boiling hot with humiliation. “’s’been this way since the beginning, all right? Whenever, uh, _wherever_ I think about you touching me, _thisssss_ happens.” _Don’t even fucking think of him touching you anywhere else,_ he warned himself. The last thing he needed was more freckles. “I know it’s weird.”

“Weird?” Aziraphale pressed closer until Crowley could feel his body heat. “Crowley, it’s lovely. _You’re_ lovely, freckles included.” He smiled. “Goodness, you wore your heart on your sleeve already, but this is such a wonderful symbol.”

Crowley ducked his head. “Ssstop – I mean, don’t do that.” He needed to stop hissing right the fuck now. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aziraphale stroked his arm; immediately, tingles raced up and down the skin. “I’m not lying,” he said. “You’re ever so dear to me, Crowley. I’ve wanted to be with you in all ways for a long time. Including…well, carnally.”

All the blood in Crowley’s body rushed downward. “You, uh…y-yeah?” _Say something else, idiot!_ But the words wouldn’t come, and he blamed his junk for it.

“Yes, darling.” Aziraphale took his hand and gently squeezed it. “Do you care for me as well?”

Crowley gulped, felt his face go hot, and started nodding as uncontrollably as a bobblehead doll. “Yes! Um, _gosh_ , I…I love you and, uh. Sssstuff.” Okay, now he officially sounded like a cassette tape that someone had dunked in water, but by the look on Aziraphale’s face, he didn’t mind. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

In lieu of an answer, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “Oh, my goodness, dear,” he said. “Your hand is covered in freckles! They’re so beautiful.”

“ _Gkhh_ ,” said Crowley.

“Yes, I know you like that.” Aziraphale stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Crowley again, then set to kissing him until Crowley’s head spun. “Oh, my,” he added, pulling away from Crowley’s lips and kissing his cheek, “your entire face is freckling, my love,” and he pressed kisses to his chin and neck with a soft smacking noise, “I’m so very flattered.”

“Angel kisses,” Crowley gasped. “They – they call freckles…angel kisses.”

“Mmmm.” Aziraphale rubbed his face against Crowley’s neck. “How appropriate. Could I – that is to say, my dear, could we…er, take our clothes off?”

Crowley wiggled his hips, unable to help it. “I think we _need_ to both be naked,” he said. “But, uh, people could ssssee us through the windows.” He could expend a miracle for it, sure, but he didn’t particularly fancy the idea of having to waste one or being picked up for indecent exposure. “Have you got somewhere?”

“Not upstairs,” said Aziraphale. “My bed is covered in books. But…hmm.” He took both of Crowley’s hands in his. “The back room? The sofa should do for our purposes. Whatever those might be.” He crooked his finger towards the back of the shop.

With a whimper, Crowley helplessly followed him. As soon as they reached the back room, Aziraphale made it worth his while by kissing him again, this time while squeezing Crowley’s arse with both hands. “Jesus!” Crowley yelped, pushing backwards into the touch. Now _that_ was tingling, too. “Could’ve told me you wanted this ages ago.”

Aziraphale kissed down Crowley’s face to his neck and bit down, gently enough not to hurt but hard enough that Crowley knew he’d probably have a bruise later. “Is this all right, Crowley, dear?”

Crowley had no idea how Aziraphale could sound so bloody calm while attacking him with his mouth, and – yes, that was an erection that Aziraphale was pressing against his thigh. Holy hell. “What do you want?” he asked, or at least tried to ask. His mouth wasn’t obeying him. “Angel…jussst touch me, _please!_ ”

“I’m rather trying to figure out what _I_ want,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took the opportunity to suck his earlobe into his mouth, and Aziraphale almost jumped out of his hold. “Oh! Yes, please, there!”

Somehow they ended up stumbling onto the couch, with Aziraphale frantically pulling off Crowley’s clothes and Crowley doing his best to divest Aziraphale of his layers. “Too many fucking buttons, angel,” he panted against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Why’ve you got so many?”

“Fashion,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Fashion from two hundred years ago. Yes!” Crowley got Aziraphale’s waistcoat open, eased it off his shoulders, and started working on the buttons of the angel’s shirt just as Aziraphale popped the button on his jeans. “Wait, wait, not yet!”

“No?” The look on Aziraphale’s face couldn’t have been more pathetic if Crowley had kicked his puppy. Which he would never do, because he hadn’t even kicked that Hellhound. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I mean, yes. Just not yet. I want us to both be…” He indicated their half-dressed bodies. “Naked. I want to see you. Feel you, Aziraphale.” It should have sounded pathetic all strung together, but Aziraphale’s dilated pupils had him feeling like the sexiest thing in the world. “Is that okay?”

“Okay…?” Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley, I’m a fool. I should have thought of this before!” He snapped his fingers, and a rush of angelic miracle later, Crowley found that they were both just as naked as the day they were created.

Aziraphale shamelessly ogled him with an expression that might have been a leer if he didn’t look so…so in _love_. The very sight had Crowley’s heart feeling like it had turned into a warm liquid. “Darling,” Aziraphale said, “would you like to fuck my thighs?”

Crowley tried to reply and squeaked instead. “Uh,” he finally said. “Um. _Yes._ ” Aziraphale’s thick, soft thighs had been the object of more than one fantasy. All right, more than twenty. “You’ve got…ssstuff?”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and produced a bottle of lube, the exact same kind that Crowley had at home. “All right, let’s see,” he said. “How should we do this? If I’m lying down and you get on top of me, that might work – oh, Crowley, look at you.” His face broke into a delighted grin. “You’re freckling again, dear.”

“’s’not like I’m doing it on purpose, angel,” said Crowley, going hot all over again as he looked down. Great, his fucking cock was freckled. “I don’t know what I can do to stop it. Been this way for six thousand years.”

“Six thousand…?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You’ve thought of me touching you all this time?”

“I haven’t always thought of you touching me _this_ way,” Crowley hastened to say. “Your wings at first. And arms and hands and…it’s stupid.”

Aziraphale swept him into his arms and kissed him thoroughly. “It’s wonderful,” he said. “Tell me how it feels, Crowley. Do you feel anything when they appear?”

Crowley shrugged. “Tingles a bit.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve always wanted to make you feel tingly, my love.” He stole another kiss that left Crowley breathless in the best possible way, then took his hand. “Shall we lie down? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

“Believe me, I want this,” Crowley said. “I want this as much as you do,” and for the first time, he took the lead, pulling Aziraphale over to the couch. The angel – _his_ angel now, maybe – lay down and spread his legs invitingly. His erection curved up from the juncture of his thighs, and Crowley couldn’t help licking his lips. “Wow. I want that, too.”

“Then it’s yours. All of me.” Aziraphale squirted out some lube and rubbed it slowly over the length of his thighs. Crowley watched as he took special care with the soft insides. “My, that feels good,” he sighed, brushing his fingertips against the base of his cock. “I can’t wait to feel you, too.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut as his own cock twitched. “Oh, Sssatan in Hell,” he said – an appropriate blasphemy now that the entity in question was undoubtedly licking his wounds Downstairs. “Tell me when you want me to sit on top. You’re turning me on.”

Aziraphale slicked his thighs and gave Crowley a heated look that would have been better suited for a demon. It was quite possibly the hottest expression he’d ever worn. “Here,” he said, and patted his leg. “Lie down and put your arms around me. Then…” He wiggled in place. “Then we can get on with it.”

Crowley scrambled forward and got on top of Aziraphale, laying his own too-thin corporation on top of Aziraphale as he was told. Aziraphale was so warm, and Crowley buried his face in the crook of his neck to soak in as much as he could. “Ooooh,” Aziraphale said, and stroked Crowley’s hair with one hand and his arse with the other. “Oh, oh, _yes_ , there – yes, move just a bit to the center and…” He groaned in tandem with Crowley as the space between his thighs met Crowley’s cock. “There! Stay there!”

“Fuck,” said Crowley, unable to keep from undulating on top of him like a snake. “You’re…you’re ssslippery.” He braced himself on an elbow and ground his cock on Aziraphale.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and closed his thighs just under Crowley’s erection. Crowley thrust helplessly into the soft, warm channel that he made. “Yes,” he said in a breathy whimper. “There, Crowley, oh, you’ve got my…yes!”

Crowley moved his hips so that the head of his cock would bump the base of Aziraphale’s again. “ _Nnnngh_ ,” he groaned. “C-can I bite you?” He mouthed at Aziraphale’s neck. “Please?”

Aziraphale answered him by squeezing his arse and pulling him closer. Crowley obligingly opened his mouth and bit Aziraphale’s neck, then flicked the forked tip of his tongue over the mark he’d left. “ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale panted. “Again!”

Crowley bit him again and began to thrust in a rhythm that quickly grew as erratic as the shaking of Aziraphale’s thighs. He was close. They were both close, he could tell, and tingles ran up and down his body in waves with every movement. Six thousand years of being repressed, and now he had Aziraphale wriggling and moaning beneath him. Had him to hold and love, like they were married –

He cried out as his orgasm hit him. His back arched as his head fell backward and his mouth fell open, and the pleasure washed through him until all of his thoughts were gone in favor of a blank whiteness in his head.

When awareness came back to him, Aziraphale was still rolling his hips beneath him. “Didn’t come yet?” Crowley asked, voice coming out raspy.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale puffed. “Your hand, Crowley?”

“Oh! Yeah, here, let me…” Crowley reached down and shakily began to stroke Aziraphale’s cock. “How’s this?”

Aziraphale cried out and pushed forward, fucking Crowley’s fist in earnest. “Close, dear,” he moaned. “I’m so close, just…” Crowley twisted his wrist one more time and then Aziraphale was coming, too, painting Crowley’s hand with heat and revealing the most beautiful facial expression Crowley had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

Everything was silent except for the sound of Aziraphale’s breathing. Crowley matched his own breaths to the angel’s and lay down fully so that he could feel Aziraphale’s chest and belly heaving underneath him, comforting and slow. “How was that?”

“All that I could have dreamed of,” said Aziraphale, and petted Crowley’s back in a long, smooth line. “You’re covered in freckles from tip to toe,” he added drowsily. Crowley had never heard him sound this blissed out, not even when he discovered a sweets-maker who soaked his date balls in rosewater four thousand years ago. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a sign of how you feel about me,” Aziraphale said. “You love me as much as I love you. I can tell.” He petted Crowley’s back again. “But I do wish I had figured out the reason back in Rome.”

Crowley kissed his chin. “Why?”

“Well, they liked this particular sexual act in Rome, too.” Aziraphale wiggled his hips. “We would have fit right in.”

Crowley groaned and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth in lieu of saying anything about how ridiculous _that_ was. “Doesn’t matter what we do now,” he said. “We’ll fit right in because it’s us.”

“Well said, dear,” said Aziraphale. “Now if it’s all right with you, I’d like to lie here a bit longer and then make you tea.”

“Okay.”

“Not only now, either. For the rest of our lives, however long those may be.”

Crowley closed his eyes and cuddled up, running a hand down Aziraphale’s side and wondering how long it would take for the freckles to fade this time. Something told him it would take a bit longer than the standard few hours, but he didn’t mind. Not anymore. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr as godihatethisfreakingcat.
> 
> Yes, Aziraphale _was_ accidentally responsible for the success of Robert of Normandy and the subsequent rise of his son, William the Conquerer. :D


End file.
